In the Beginning
by thousandyearflower
Summary: Short one-shot. About how Dark Link came to be and how he learned his sword art. I might or might not continue this, depending on viewer status...so please read this, even if you don't want to!


Mist. There was just mist. Everything is mist. There is nothing but mist.

Water. Spreading out for as far as the eye can see, the floor is a layer of water that seemed shallow when stepped on. It came up just to the shin. but if one were to look down, one would not see the bottom. Like mercury, the water reflected every ounce of light. But, as is all liquids, one will be able to see at least his boots.

An ashen-gray tree, twisted, gnarled, with its branches stretching out in a similar fashion to crooked fingers grasping at the sky, stood in the middle of the room, on an isolated dune of earth. A solitary island.

Dark Link had been there since the beginning. Ever since he had been created, a shadow given life, Ganondorf had placed him there. To wait. To sit beneath the tree on the tiny island in the middle of an endless expense of water and mist, and wait.

_How long would this go on for?_ He thought once. But there was no one to answer his questions, so he kept silent.

* * *

Dark Link didn't talk. He had 't needed to. Most of the time, he just sat there, gazing unseeingly into the distance. A few times he glanced up, but there was nothing different to see. The view was the same. A translucent sort of misty-grey was the permanent decoration in that room. The room had no walls, nor ceiling. Behind him, behind the island, a block of wall with a door stood. The door was bolted and blocked by bars of metal. Very hard, cold metal.

At first, when the room had been fresh to Dark, he had tried to explore. He walked miles in every direction. He even looked behind that wall. Surprisingly, it was blank. The bolted and blocked door in the front did not seem to exist at the back of the wall. Dark had simply labelled it as another oddity of this room of oddities.

A shadow isn't easily scared, but he soon was disturbed by the total lack of sound. Nothing but the squelch of his boots when they stepped into the water, and the splash that came when he sat down in the water. Sometimes it seemed that the silence was what's surpressing sound.

When the room and the surroundings started to bore Dark, he had tried the door. He went up to it, and hit the metal bars with his black blade to see if he could break the bars and hopefully get out of the room. But the metal had sizzed and sparked when the blade connected, so he stopped. Then, when he was sure that hacking was not going to work, he, in a desperate fit of energy, seized the bars and shook it – furtile, he knew, but he had to try, hadn't he? – and even through his gloves, he felt the sharp sting.

That was when he realized he was not a guest, or a long-term visitor. He realised that he was a prisoner. That he was just an unwanted creation created for one purpose and only one.

"GANONDORF!" he screamed in a voice raw with anger.

It was the first time he had used his voice. It was a deep tenor, and it was strong. It vibrated out across the water, causing ripples.

To his immense frustration, an echo was heard, soft, weak and whiny. Like it was taunting him, mocking him. It went on and on and on.

His anger didn't end there.

He had a blade, and he knew how to use it. Very well.

He unsheathed his glittering blade, a double edged sword as long as his arm, and rushed at the tree. Hacking and slashing and stabbing, the lowest branches of the tree was pulverized. He continued, his movements becoming more precise and deadly, each swipe taking out a chunk of the tree, his anger fueling him.

When he calmed down, he noticed the cut off branches of the tree had not stayed on the floor. They were sinking. Sinking and spiralling and simmering into the shallow depths of th water, until they faded from sight. Dark then started to think.

There was a door.

There was a tree.

There was a floor that could swallow rubbish.

He had a sword.

He was in a room with absolutely nothing to do.

He would train. His brain clicked. Train with the endless amount of time he had before him, and eventually Ganondorf was bound to show his big black butt. Then Dark would kill him, and earn freedom out of that rubbish of a home.

The tree was not as small then. It had magnificent black, twisted branches, and they varied greatly in size. Dark would use that. A smirk found it's way up onto his face.

* * *

Something slimy, something purple had writhed into existence in the room and Dark, with one clean stroke of his midnight blade, killed it. That was when he knew, _knew for sure_, that there was something other than water and mist in the world. And so he is resolve to get out was settled.


End file.
